Strike
by LadyoftheMightyPen
Summary: Footsteps flying, heartbeat pounding. The accident was just a few hours before, and Matthew had no clue if Amelia was alive. ( Preset AmeCan, with fem!America )


_This isn't happening._

_It can't be happening._

_It could never happen._

One footstep blurred into another, a cacophony of noisy footsteps that nevertheless sounded evenly among the quiet white tiled halls. The thumps were like thunderclaps, booming through the soft sounds of beeping, and the chatter of nurses, grouped up in their general station, sipping bitter cups of coffee and reading over charts.

He twisted his head to them, realizing the purpose of these people at that instant, something of use. Matthew walked up to the counter in long strides, voice trembling in his throat as he began to force them out.

"Amelia F. Jones."

"Pardon?" A blonde nurse, some tall, gangly thing peeked up from a clipboard, strolling over, as she was separate from the gossip. "May I help you sir?"

"Yes, you may." He tried not to snap, the anxiety in his tone rising. "I need help now." He didn't want to think of it, the incident that he knew he had to visit the carnage of now. "Amelia F. Jones… She-" He bit back tears now, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. "She was just was admitted, hit by a car." Pausing, he remembered the shaky phone call from her right before she went into emergency surgery, mentioning only the number 4, and that she'd see him when she awoke.

"Oh!" Recognition sparked in her eyes, and sneaking a glance at the woman's nametag, he realized her name was Peg, an interesting name, not all too common. "Ms. Jones, you can find her in 424, just down that-"

He tore off before she could finish, counting off numbers in his head as he went. The accident, he could still remember exactly what happened, each moment burned into his memory. They'd been strolling around some tiny town that Amelia desperately wanted to show him, arm in arm, well, more like him being dragged about. They were looking for a place to shop, some boutique advertised on a bulletin board in some rinky-dink little sandwich shop.

He'd spotted it before her, pointing across the street with a soft smile. With an excited squeak, they'd been half-running across a quiet road, her eyes on the shop, and his eyes on her.

They never saw the car.

In a screech of tires, Amelia had seen it first, lips gaping and making a shriek from the back of her throat. Ever the hero, Matthew had suddenly been pushed away from the shorter blonde as the car careened forward, frantic driver standing on the brakes. She'd been hit in the blink of an eye, folding in half as she flew, unfolding a moment later, hitting the hot pavement and skipping several times, head smacking the road.

The automobile induced acrobatics were pure horror to watch, Matthew's eyes wide and terrified. When she landed, there was a sickening crunch, and another, as the car rolled to a stop, tires bumping against her. Somehow though, her dream of flying like Superman came in a horribly timed thought.

He'd been sick, vomiting next to himself, head cloudy as he rushed to her.

He was rushing now, the wrong rooms rushing by.

421.

422.

423.

424.

There it was. Stopping midstride, he collected himself, wiping a sweat stained forehead on the sleeve of the hoodie he'd been wearing earlier. Opening the door, he was immediately washed with regret. Matthew desperately wanted to ride along to the hospital with her, but he'd had a concussion from being pushed out of the way. They'd patched him up, and save for some pain medication in his system, he was unharmed.

"Amy…" He smiled weakly at the girl, cheap white blankets covering her from the waist down. The poor girl was a mess, one arm casted, the other coated in bandages, along with her forehead. Short blonde hair had been french-braided back, obviously too careful to be her handiwork, but it kept the blonde strands from the wraps on her head and neck.

"Hey Mattie." She grinned weakly, eyes clouded with morphine. "I'd wave or something, but the doc said lie still." He returned the weak smile, walking over to sit in the chair next to the bed, gripping the bandaged hand in his own callused one.

"You're alive."

"Of course I am!" She perked up slightly, still drowsy. "I just feel, off, after what the doc told me." She sighed now, a trace of a pout on her lips.

"What did he tell you Amy?" Breath hitching, he tightened his grip, genuinely frightened. "You're okay, right?" A slight desperation struck his tone, eyes flashing.

"Everything that's here is…" She looked down and away, and Matthew gulped.

"What do you mean by that?"

She didn't speak, tossing back the covers to reveal her legs. The right looked normal, save for a few bandages along her thigh. But, at the left side, it was normal to her knee.

There wasn't anything below it.

"No." He turned to stare at her, mouth agape. "You're fooling me, right?" Her eyes were teary, and his were starting to blur with his own salty tears. Amelia shook her head, and leaned forward, clinging to his arm. Shifting forward, he sat on the bed next to her, pulling her close so she could lean against his chest.

"I saved you though." He looked at her, and her weak smile. Ruffling her hair, he pressed a kiss to her temple, sighing, tears running down her face.

"A real hero." That was the last the pair spoke, Amelia curled up to him, both of them in tears at the sudden trauma of a sleepy day.


End file.
